


Art Block

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has art block. Enjolras endeavors to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art Block

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!!

Enjolras watched over the top of his book as Grantaire moved from first the armchair across from him to the couch next to him to slumped on the floor in front of the couch to the floor next to the fireplace and back to the armchair. “You look like an overgrown cat,” he remarked, turning the page in his book.

Grantaire fixed him with a look that also would have looked at place on a cat’s face. “I can’t get comfortable,” he complained, slumping further against the armchair.

Enjolras made a noncommittal noise in the back of throat. “Pardon me in advance for mentioning it, but aren’t you supposed to be working right now?”

Neither of them kept a very strict schedule at the moment — Enjolras was freelancing from home as a political consultant, and Grantaire was also freelancing as an artist — but Grantaire had been firm about carving out two hours at least each day for him to actually try to churn out art. “Even if it’s terrible,” he had told Enjolras firmly, “at least I’m doing something. And that’s half the battle.”

Now, though, Grantaire just sighed and rolled over so that he was sprawled across the armchair, giving Enjolras a long-suffering look. “I have art block.”

Enjolras set his book down to frown in concern at his boyfriend. “Can I help?” he asked, though he was pretty sure there was nothing he’d be able to do. Sometimes he felt bad at how often Grantaire acted as a sounding board for him while the most that Grantaire ever asked of him was that he sit still and look pretty while trying to paint him.

Grantaire sighed heavily and shrugged. “Normally you’re enough of inspiration to get me painting,” he said, a hint of a leer in his expression though it quickly settled back into overwrought despondence. “But not today, it seems. Even your magnificence seems muted.”

Though Enjolras’s frown deepened, he quickly stood and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before sitting back down. “Better?”

Grantaire stared at him, mouth hanging open. “Did you — are you — really?” he managed. “You think that the reason you’re not inspiring me is because you’re  _clothed_?”

Enjolras shrugged, a flush spreading down his neck and across his bare chest. “Well I figured it couldn’t be helping matters,” he muttered.

Grantaire dissolved into laughter, almost falling off the armchair from how hard he was laughing. “Oh my god,” he managed when he finally resurfaced. “That’s the vainest thing I have ever witnessed. Holy fucking shit.”

Glaring at him, Enjolras stood to grab his t-shirt back. “I was just trying to help,” he mumbled.

But Grantaire was ignoring him, instead singing, “You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you,” to himself in between bursts of laughter. When he saw Enjolras reaching for his shirt, though, he stopped and sat up. “What, don’t put it back on.”

“Why not?” Enjolras snapped, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Because I rather like the view,” Grantaire said sweetly, though he ruined it by grinning and adding, “Though I’d like it more if you took your pants off, too…”

Enjolras heaved a sigh and pulled his jeans down, then glanced at Grantaire, who made a pleading face at him, and took his boxers off as well. “Feeling inspired yet?” he sniped.

Grantaire licked his lips, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, I think I feel some inspiration coming on,” he murmured.

Enjolras put his hands on his hips and glared at Grantaire, which would probably have looked more impressive were he not standing buck-ass naked in their living room. “Don’t even think about it,” he snapped. “This is your designated art time.”

Sighing, Grantaire looked Enjolras up and down mournfully. “I knew that setting a designated time was going to come back to bite me in the ass.” He stood and started towards Enjolras, who determinedly backed away. “Oh, come on, I’m not going to do anything. I mean, I am, but artistically, not like that.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “What ‘artistic’ thing are you planning?”

“Your body as my canvas,” Grantaire said easily. At the dubious look on Enjolras’s face, Grantaire rolled his eyes and elaborated, “Just to paint on your extremities. Nothing sexual, I promise. You can even put your boxers back on if it will make you feel better.”

Though Enjolras still didn’t look fully convinced, he shook his head at that. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” He looked at Grantaire, curious. “So how would you want to do this?”

Grantaire gestured at the couch. “Just lie there and let me do what I do. Oh, and like, turn when I ask you to.” He gave Enjolras his best puppy-dog eyes. “Please? It’ll help me break my art block.”

Enjolras sighed as if it was a hard choice, as if he wasn’t firmly wrapped around Grantaire’s finger and would have done almost anything that he asked. “Fine,” he said, sitting down on the couch. “Do you want me on my back or my stomach first?”

Grantaire considered him for a long moment. “Stomach,” he decided. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared, assumedly to grab his art supplies, and Enjolras settled onto his stomach, picking his book back up to keep reading. He barely even noticed when Grantaire returned, though a small smile lifted his lips when he felt Grantaire touch him, something almost reverent in his touch.

They spent the better part of the next hour like that, Grantaire painting and drawing on Enjolras, who rolled over when Grantaire asked him to but otherwise mostly ignored what Grantaire did. Finally, though, Grantaire sat back, giving a contented sigh. “Alright, I think I’m done for the moment.”

Enjolras carefully rolled over and sat up, stretching his limbs, which felt weird after being stuck in the same position for such a long time. He glanced down at himself, surprised at what he saw. “I thought you were painting…” he started, before looking closer at the doodles and drawings covering his legs, chest, and arms. “Is that Sharpie?”

“Oops,” Grantaire said innocently, though he was grinning fiendishly.

Enjolras made a particularly undignified noise before bolting to the bathroom, presumably to get a better look at just what Grantaire had drawn on him. Most of it was innocuous, a few doodles of Enjolras, some pop culture things, a few caricatures, but, well, Grantaire couldn’t stop himself—

“Did you write ‘Property of Grantaire’ across my ass?” Enjolras shrieked from the bathroom.

Grantaire smiled mischievously as he tucked his Sharpie back into his pocket. “Oops.”


End file.
